


Ashfall Ruination

by Arianissa



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ari is sweary, Canon-Typical Violence, Cop!Marcone, Discussion of Off-Screen Character Death, Fairy-Based Slaughter of Pizza, Fugitive!Dresden, M/M, On-Screen Magical Murder of Wardens, Pizza, Watch me butcher Latin, might get smutty later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25402021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianissa/pseuds/Arianissa
Summary: The Fugitive!Dresden x Cop!Marcone AU I'm surprised I haven't seen yet~Lt. John Marcone and Chicago PD's Homicide Department have a serial killer on their hands. Three months, seven bodies, no IDs and a list of inexplicable causes of death. It's not until John is caught up in the next killing that the true scope of events begins to become clear. Identifying their murderer is only the beginning.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Comments: 45
Kudos: 47





	1. Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Dresden Fandom! Ari commenth to sully you :3 
> 
> After months of lurking, I gift ye with my first contribution. Is it good? Probably not. Will you enjoy it? Who knows. But here it is anywhos. 
> 
> Now excuse me while I go hide from the Witcher Fandom, to whom I still owe some chapters. They will come, I promise. Pun unintended but relevant ;p

Bodies kept showing up, one every few weeks. One, scorched beyond recognition. Another, bones shattered, broken in ways that made it look like a train had hit him. A third, suffocation, though quite unreasonably it seemed, from her lungs being crushed rather than any usual means. And no damage around them to account for it. The list went on, seven bodies, varying ages, men and women, all as yet unidentified. The only commonality among them, beyond the equally unexplainable CoDs? A sword. Every victim had one on them or nearby. Three of them also had matching coats, grey affairs that couldn't be linked to any known manufacturer. 

The only lead they had found was blood. The killer had been injured more than once. And with a _sword_. They had found it on half of the blades but even that turned out to be worthless. Each time, the substance had been heated beyond use. Checks with every hospital and doctor in the city had brought up no records, on or around the days of the murders, that could be attributed to the weapons.

The frustration across the department was palpable, thick in the air. Worse, Special Investigations were all but clawing to get their hands on this and just might if they couldn't turn up some answers soon. Apparently these killings ' _had all the hallmarks of something supernatural_ '. And while Lieutenant Marcone didn't disbelieve in the possibility, he also wasn't ready to write these bodies off to _magic_. Humans could get damn creative when they wanted to. 

He sighed, leaning back on his desk and stared at the board on his office wall, crime scene photos taped to it and a few neat notes. Seven bodies and so little to work with. 

John Marcone, head of CPD's Homicide department, determined, methodical, ruthless and completely at a loss. His fingers clenched in the shirt over his folded arms. He was angry, _seething_ at his own uselessness in this. Perhaps Hendricks had been right. The detective had cornered him before leaving, told him in no uncertain terms that he needed rest and to spend some time on something that was not this case. He had gone so far as to threaten kidnapping and bodily harm if John didn't pull his shit together. And actually go home before midnight this time. And stop obsessing because it wasn't healthy. And, damn it, remember that food is a thing that exists! 

He heaved himself up reluctantly, grabbed his suit jacket and resolved to follow the advice, if only for this evening. The rest of the department had already cleared out when he shut and locked his office door. It was oddly quiet, even the rest of the precinct as he strolled through the building. There was something subdued in the air, the storm outside bringing a melancholy that affected everyone. 

A fresh pang of annoyance surged through John when he faced the outside world. Hendricks had driven him this morning. He'd been so caught up in his work that it had completely slipped him. No car, no umbrella, fuck it. He walked out into the rain with no more hesitation. The rain was heavy, thick drops falling unhindered by wind. It was still mild out, humidity not yet purged. That kind of cleansing rain that calms you, gives you quiet focus. Maybe it was a blessing. If only the rain could clean the city in the same way, then perhaps John wouldn’t have to worry about civilians and guns and drugs and fucking swords. 

A quiet reverie fell over him then, mind sifting over details and theories. Only a few blocks had passed when something caught John’s eye. Across the busy street strode a man. John had only glanced over thoughtlessly but in that moment, several things drew him further in. The first was the man’s height. He towered over the other pedestrians, easily six and a half feet tall. Like John, he had no umbrella, just a long coat, undone and billowing at his quick pace. What really held the Lieutenant's attention once there though, was the man’s bearing, the stark, grim determination on his face. That and the clean slice across his upper arm, heavy fabric parted around a gash that bled free. The rain tried to disperse it as it welled up but it didn't matter. The red was bright and unrelenting. 

John’s feet sped up without order, trying to match the pace of the other man. His eyes darted, scanning for the best place to get across the busy road. Against better judgement, he ended up weaving through the traffic. There was something about this, a gut wrenching feeling that this was important. As he gained ground on the man, he was able to take in more detail. There was more blood soaked into the clinging, wet jeans and John began picking out more splits in the coat. There were glimpses of flesh through a couple but others opened to dark fabric. Older damage. 

As his quarry dipped down a side street, the brief thought of how idiotic this was went through John's mind. It was reckless to follow alone, broke all kinds of protocol and he could practically hear Hendricks' voice telling him exactly what he thought of this course of action. He could argue back, there were plenty of ways he could rationalize this but there was no point. John wasn't going to lie to himself. He knew this was stupid and he was going to keep on anyway. On the miniscule chance that the little voice screaming that this man was their killer or otherwise involved, he couldn't give it up. 

Another corner was turned, a delivery access road. The small number of pedestrians here barely camouflaged him as it was, once he took this turn then it would be obvious that he was trailing the man. John slowed a little, tried to relax his posture, did his best to make it look like this was where he meant to go all along. 

He needn't have bothered. A few steps into the glorified alleyway and John was face to face with his target. He was half hidden behind a dumpster, using it as cover, though he almost towered over his impromptu shield. In his unhidden hand was some kind of rod, almost like a wand, John guessed. And on his face, a sudden look of confusion.

"You're not…"

"Hey!" John didn't give him time to finish. It wasn't a gun in his hand so he used the momentary shock to gain ground. "Chicago PD! Hold it right there, I have questions for you!"

"Uh, now isn't the best time…" There was a note of urgency in his voice, the man flicking his eyes back to the end of the road. 

"Maybe an investigation room would be more to your- look at me!" It may have been the stress, the weather, the way the man was studiously ignoring him in favour of where they had just come from, but something in John snapped. He had taken the last few steps between them without thinking and grabbed the man's collar, dragging his attention down to John's face. It was a mistake. Their eyes met for two, three seconds and then the ground felt like it was falling away beneath his feet. His whole awareness dragged into that dark gaze. Nothing and then everything.

 _Swirling clouds of smoke, heat, fire. Everywhere and nowhere._ John couldn't gather where he was, how he got here. _Pain and death and regret swamping his lungs with every inhale._ An inexplicable feeling washed over him, like he was somewhere he shouldn't be. Seeing the man he had chased to his very core. _And a desire, burning hotter than all else, to protect. _He couldn't breathe against it all, overwhelming emotion crushing down on him and rain. Rain. And cold air. He was breathing hard, eyes swimming back into focus. Hands on his shoulders kept him steady, could probably feel the slight shake rippling through him. The man staring down at him didn't seem to be doing any better, shock plastering his face as neatly as his rain drenched hair. Then his eyes were elsewhere and he was cursing under his breath.

"Quiet, get back." The harsh, whispered words were accompanied by the hands on his shoulders spinning him, pushing him backwards. His spine met brick, the dizziness that wasn't fading fast enough keeping him from hearing the next mumbled words. A tingling sensation shot down John's body and he fought the urge to panic or struggle as the other man crowded against him. Fingertips came up to his lips, barely pressed in a warning to stay silent. He looked up, eyes locking once again. No smoke or earth-tilting hallucinations. Just brown eyes set in resolve, serious and unerring. 

From beyond the dumpster came hurried footsteps and John tensed. Whoever was coming must be the tail this man had been expecting. A tail that he had been prepared to fight, _had been fighting_. But now he was against a wall, behind a metal can he was _taller than_ , with his back to potential assailants. If these people were dangerous, they were fucked. 

"Shit." A woman's voice, anger seething in even that one word. The steps slowed but didn't stop, splashing ever closer through the puddles in the uneven tarmac. A second set joined behind her. "Trail's gone."

Gone? They were in clear view. Hell, the woman was almost level with them. Couldn't take more than a few strides to pass them. A man spoke out in reply, calmer but no less unaffected by stress. 

"Think he portaled out?"

"Probably. Fuck, I'll kill him." The woman passed them like they weren't there. John watched, half awed, half disbelieving. She was blonde, hair pulled into a tight bun, straggled at the front where her fingers grabbed at it in frustration. She wore a familiar grey coat and dark trousers and, though he couldn't see it, John was willing to bet there was a sword on her as well. "Go, check the area in case he's fucking with us. If there's no sign then we'll try and pick his path up in the Nevernever."

He cast his confusion down, going back to the face hovering above him. The man's attention hadn't wavered, he was barely blinking, hadn't done more than twitch and breathe. 

"Damn it, Dresden, you bastard."

Dresden? Was that his name? He gave nothing away on hearing it. After a moment, presumably to give the second party time to set off, he began to move. The fingers slid off John's mouth and, still without breaking eye contact, he stretched his arm out towards the woman. She had stopped a few metres from them, fiddling with something out of sight. Then he whispered, breathy, reverent.

" _Stipo. Tumesco. Expleo._ "

John couldn't keep the question from his face this time, almost ready to yell at the complete loss of control and understanding that this had tumbled into. It became clear far too quickly though. There was a strangled sound, sudden and desperate, dragging John's head fully to the woman. She had hunched over, grabbing at her chest, shaking like she was trying to cough and failing entirely. It didn't take long. She crumpled to her knees first, clawed piteously at the ground for five heartbeats and then just toppled. Dropped sideways into the pooling waters and just stopped. Stopped. _Dead._

Half a million cusses and shouts and questions fought for dominance in his mind as his body began to fight for freedom. The words never made it past his lips and his shoulders didn't make it more than an inch from the bricks. This man, _Dresden_ , was fast, stronger than he looked. He was ready for John to fight and had his knee against a hip and hands pushed against him in a second, pinning hard with all his weight. John tensed, ready for violence, pain, whatever fucked up _fucking magic_ death was about to be bestowed on him. Dresden leaned forward, mouth coming right to his ear and he spoke quietly but clearly. 

"Listen to me, Lieutenant. I may have killed them but the real murderers are in your freezers. They don't play by your rules. They have their own and if they're broken, the punishment is death. Not just the knowing. They have and will kill any who transgress, the guilty, the ignorant, _children_. More monsters than those they profess to hunt. I won't stop. Not protecting myself or others". 

And then he simply pushed away, lifting both hands out in an 'I'm not going to hurt you' gesture. Without another word, he turned and walked away like nothing had happened. No chase, no murder, no… no magic. John slumped a little. 

Facts. Run through facts. He had a name, he had a face, a confession. A new body. And Dresden had _known who he was_. He didn't want to admit it but that scared the Hell out of him. But he was alive, unhurt. Why leave a witness, especially one that was already out to get him, when he could kill with barely a thought and a handful of words? 

The memory swirled around him then, of the smoke and desperation and fear that he'd been thrown into behind Dresden's eyes. It was vivid, clear as when it was happening and made him feel a little nauseous. _Protect._ He was trying to protect something. But what? How was someone so certain and unflinching in what he'd just done be so full of fear?

He needed to call this in. He could pick it apart later. Somewhere safe and dry with no corpses or psychopathic magic users to watch out for. John looked at the woman's body, sprawled where she'd died. His hands were shaking as he reached into his coat for his phone, hunching forward to shelter the device from the downpour. It was off. He fumbled with cold, wet fingers to turn it back on. Nothing. Of all the times for it to play up, the damn thing had to pick today! John clenched his hand around it tightly and resisted the urge to lob it at the building ahead of him. He would have to head back out to the main road and-

"Elize!" 

Heavy boots splashed back down the alley and John was faced with the man he had heard before. Like the woman, _Elize_ , a grey coat spilled around him. Unlike her, the hilt of a sword protruded clearly from under it. Another difference; this time he had no trouble seeing John. He rounded on the Lieutenant with an intense fury in his eyes, incensed by his partner’s obvious death and John knew there would be no reasoning with him. 

“What did you see?” It was a single decibel short of being shouted and the dangerous tone was compounded by the screech of metal. He gave no chance to answer before the blade was out, held ready should John so much as flinch the wrong way. The officer’s eyes flicked to the body. What could he possibly say to defuse this? He couldn’t go for his gun, the man would be on him long before his fingers reached it, he was sure. He was also sure that ‘Oh yes, I watched the crazy and apparently invisible man kill your friend with a few foreign words’ would not be the right answer either. The handful of seconds it took for those thoughts to process were too long and the man didn’t hold his volume this time. “I asked you what you saw!” 

In seconds, the sword was raised, John's muscles tensing ready to attempt a dodge. He'd been in enough knife fights in his time, even faced a few maniacs with swords but none who actually knew how to wield one. The anxiety didn't show on his face and the Lieutenant deftly focused the fear into adrenaline. He could deal with this.

The man surged forward, twisting his body to strike. John could hear the harsh whistle of displaced air as he threw himself to the side. A loud crashing followed it. Not the sound of metal on brick. Righting himself, he spun back towards his attacker, preparing for the next blow. Then John stopped short. He looked back in time to watch his opponent topple forward, shoulder and skull smashing into the wall as his momentum carried him onward. The sword clanked to the ground at his ankles. He did not rise. 

John stared. Blood was pooling out onto the alley floor, spilling from the man's gut where a large part of him was just… gone. Torn away. Embedded in the wall by his shoulder was the cause. A fist sized rock covered in viscera and gore. It was a fight not to vomit at the unexpected sight. John pushed the nausea down, scanning around for any sign of Dresden or anyone else. There was none. 

Sure of that, John stumbled his way back out onto the street, ambushed the closest person and used her phone to call the station. Within a quarter hour, the area was covered in sirens and crime scene tape and Hendricks was pulling John into a car as soon as paramedics had cleared him.


	2. Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello, fancy seeing you here.

The morning after was just as grim as the night before. While the rain had lessened some, the day was still bleak and set to stay so. It matched John's continued foul mood. He had been given a day of leave after what he had faced but turned it down. Now was not the time to step back when a path forward had finally presented itself. 

That path led to the lacklustre offices of Chicago PD's Special Investigations Unit and the unnamed door of one Lt. Karrin Murphy. There were questions to be asked and, Heaven help him, this was the best chance at answers that he had. Ignoring the glares of the department at his back, John swallowed down his pride and scepticism and rapped on the frosted glass. 

"Marcone. Heard you had quite the night. Finally ready to hand this one over?" The door had opened on a five-foot-nothing, blonde firecracker of a woman. A formidable pain in the arse. Murphy took shit from no one and held her post, and the respect of her subordinates, through sheer strength of will and wit. She’d closed cases and caught criminals that had left older and more experienced officers entirely bewildered. Then written perfectly normal, completely explainable reports that directly opposed her enthusiasm for the unfathomable. 

"Absolutely not. I need to ask you about a few things I witnessed last night." Murphy looked caught between frustration and curiosity for a second before sighing.

"Come on in." She shuffled him into the room and motioned for him to take a seat while she closed the door. "So what is it you want to know?"

John used a moment of feigned distaste at the less than comfortable chair to hide his hesitation. "Murders aside for the moment… before the victims arrived on the scene, something happened that I can't make sense of."

He watched as Murphy took her own seat and got settled. "Go on."

"As ridiculous as this sounds, when I made eye contact with our killer, I saw something. It felt like I was somewhere else for a few seconds … like I was seeing his soul. And the memory of it is vivid, as if I couldn't forget if I tried."

"Soul gaze." The sudden, clear answer took John aback. He hadn't expected ridicule but neither had he really thought he would get any kind of confirmation. 

"Excuse me?"

The woman readjusted herself, a serious expression on her. "A soul gaze. I've never seen it myself but it's apparently something that happens with magic users if you hold eye contact for long enough. Some sort of mutual peek at each other's essence. Creepy stuff. Can't say I know much about it beyond knowing that I don't wanna get caught up in one." 

"I see." It wasn't reassuring but it gave John a point to work from. With a name for it, he could ask around for more information if he needed to. It also gave him a grounding for sifting through and making sense of those memories. 

"So what was it like? World altering spiritual experience?"

"Not in the least." John would have been happy to leave it at that but the look of eager curiosity on his colleague's face pushed him to elaborate. "It was like being trapped in a burning building. Disoriented, panicked, smoke too thick to see through but you still know the fire is there. It left me with quite a few more questions than I started with, if I’m honest.”

Karrin tried to hide her snort at that. Not a great many folks knew of John’s history but her family was old guard, far too many cops at those little reunions of theirs not to gossip about mobsters-turned-officers. Not many willing to accept just how much he and his closest had put on the line during that little career change either. Or the years of work he had put in to get where he was now. Of them all, Murphy was one of the better ones so John ignored the sound and the scrunch of her little nose as she tried to cover it.

“I’ll ask around if you like, see if anyone is willing to meet with you and talk it over.”

"Alright, thank you. The other thing; do you know of anyone by the name of Dresden?"

"Dresden?" Murphy was visibly shocked at that. She shifted her position again and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, frowning. "You think he's good for this?" 

"You know him then?" 

"Not exactly." The woman looked uncertain though John couldn't guess at the reason why. "He's a bit of an urban legend around some of the low level practitioners. Shows up when things go South sometimes, helps however he can, advises some of the younger ones how to stay out of trouble and then disappears off again. His name crops up a lot if you ask the right questions. I can't be sure but I think it might have been him who pulled my arse out of the fire one time, against something nasty back in my beat cop days. These murders, it doesn't fit with what I've heard about him."

_Protect._

That unyielding imprint swirled over John's mind again, fierce and determined.

"Lieutenant Murphy, if there were a group that threatened these people, what about then? Do you think he would be capable of it if he were to act in their defence?"

Murphy was silent for a minute, combing through what she knew against her experiences with other killers. When she finally drew her conclusion, there was something apprehensive there.

"I can't say he wouldn't. He fights off some of the monsters that hide in the dark, things that I wouldn't even know how to begin to deal with, even with the combined experiences we've faced in SI. He's not weak, by any standards." She sighed, her frustration coming through again. "Sure you don't want to hand this one over?"

"No. I've put too much into this to pass the responsibility now and I'm not so much of a bastard as to dump this mess on anyone, not even your lot."

"How gracious of you.” Murphy tried to sound offended but a thread of amusement still slipped through, some of her tension going with it. “Tell me, this guy you saw, what did he look like?" 

"Tall, around six and a half feet, brown hair and eyes, dark canvas Duster-style coat, magic wand."

That actually made the woman smile. 

"Magic wand? Really? Don't let those stereotypes get to you, do you? That aside, the guy that saved me? You just described him down to the stupid coat." Interesting. That meant there really was a good chance this man had been operating in Chicago for several years, at the least, without drawing any negative police attention. Or maybe he had been working above board until now, which begged the question, what had changed? 

"What exactly did he save you from?" 

Karrin pursed her lips, deciding whether or not to share that little piece of information. When she did, it was curt, clear and defiant, daring him to comment. 

"A Troll." 

"A … Troll." The cynicism filled John’s voice entirely.

"Don't you dare. You just came to me asking about staring into another guy's eyes for so long you thought you could see his soul." 

"And you just told me I was correct."

"Uh-huh. But I'm willing to bet the other good folks in your department won't take that quite as literally as it was. Fraternisation with a suspect? How unexpectedly unprofessional of you, Marcone." Murphy wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, a sadistic amusement firmly in place. Marcone cringed.

"I see your point. I won't question it."

"Thank you. Now get gone. I have work to do." 

\-----

The next stop of the day was the Chicago Institute of Forensics. It wasn't entirely necessary to collect the autopsy reports in person but having been there when they died, John felt like he needed to go. Especially considering the manners in which they expired. When he arrived, he flashed his badge and was quickly directed back to one of the autopsy rooms. Even without paying heed to the room numbers, it wasn't difficult to locate the correct one. The quiet thrum of Polka music, of all things, was a dead giveaway.

"Dr. Butters."

"Ah! Lieutenant! Good to see you. I think. Uh, here for the report?" Waldo Butters was a strange one, skittish and awkward but undeniably brilliant. The medical examiner responsible for all of the bodies in this case so far, he had made as much sense as anyone could have with the evidence provided. If only he could get through a meeting without looking like he thought John might eat him, nothing more could be asked of him. By this point though, John was learning to take his nervous chatter in stride, steering him to their purpose here with an expectant raise of his eyebrow. "Yes, of course you are. Ok, _so_ , who do you want first?"

John ignored Butters' fidgeting and focused instead on the examination table currently occupied by a plethora of samples and notes. "Let's start with Miss Elize. What can you tell me?" 

Butters nodded and grabbed a file from his desk with an unexpected little excited gleam in his eye. He handed it over and began explaining as John flicked through the paperwork. 

"Well, cause of death was most definitely drowning. Her lungs were packed with water. The fascinating thing though is that while the water matches the samples they took at the scene, it's completely uncontaminated!" John glanced up. An uncontaminated sample should be par for the course if everyone did their job right, not a notable abnormality.

"What do you mean?" 

"I _mean_ that there's nothing but the rain water. No bits of dirt or debris. It's present in every sample taken and that's totally normal because the rain and runoff mixes up with all the-" Oh Lord, he could not deal with more tangents today.

" _Doctor_ Butters." The shorter man flinched visibly at the admonition but pulled himself back together quickly. 

"Right. To do this, someone would have had to collect the rainwater in an entirely sterile container and then somehow drown her in it without getting any dirt or hair from her person in that water." 

"... Or use magic to force the water around her directly into her lungs." Just saying it out loud made the whole situation feel ridiculous again, validation from Karrin Murphy be damned. Butters' next words helped none either, pushing at a line John hadn’t realised was there to cross.

"Yeeeeeeah, or use _magic_."

John grit his teeth, muscles tensing as, for just a moment, his control slipped and emotion got the better of him. His response came out sharp and a fraction louder than he’d meant. "I watched her die, Dr. Butters. There were no containers and the closest people to her were myself and the suspect, _several metres away_."

The young man looked instantly apologetic, guilty, maybe a little sad. He spoke his next words softly, a calm sort of reassurance that John had never heard from him before.

"Look, I'm not disputing that, ok? But my job here is to look at the evidence presented to me and draw logical conclusions based on the science. Whatever's happening here, it's messed up and I can only work with what I know. You say it's magic and well, maybe, but if it's not then it's up to me to give you whatever information I can to figure out the how."

Marcone deflated at that. Butters was right. Just a short while ago and he wouldn't have accepted it himself. He couldn't expect it of others on his say so. Drumming his fingers against the cold metal of the examination table, John looked over the samples again. He was beginning to empathise with some of the grievances Special Investigations had to face on a regular basis and that couldn't end well.

"I apologise. It's been a … challenging few days. If there is nothing else of note, shall we move on to our unknown gentleman?"

"Sure." Butters gave him a sympathetic little smile and picked up the large rock sat between some sample bottles and a pile of tagged up clothing. "I assume I don't need to explain cause of death on this one?"

He didn't. The gaping hole and gore had been rather self explanatory. John nodded for him to continue. 

"Ok, so this thing managed to tear clear through Mr. Doe's abdomen which is not an easy thing to do. The velocity required for something like this is in the thousands per foot, best comparison I can give you is a cannon ball. Only without the cannon, apparently. There was no powder residue or any kind of scorching to indicate incendiary propulsion. No damage that might suggest it was propelled by impact either. We do have this though." Butters turned the rock in his hands to reveal a circle, about 3 centimetres in diameter, with nondescript lettering inside, carved into the surface. "No idea what it's meant to be but this was facing the exact angle of the presumed trajectory. Kinda creepy really."

Creepy didn't seem a strong enough word. Terrifying would be closer to it. Would be more so were it not for the fact that rock had saved his life. Even if it did look like John had been used as bait, the timing, the precision, the _power_ of the blow, it made it difficult for him to believe he had ever been in danger. 

"Is there a photo of this in the file?"

"Yep, all in there. Pictures of their blades, too. I'll have all of it shipped out to you as soon as I can release it." Butters had continued to keep his jitters in check and John found it oddly calming. This easily-ruffled man, eternally on edge when faced with John, had pulled it together to comfort _him_ the moment his own external cool began to crack. He had to wonder, just how badly did this job rattle him? This case in particular. These things weren't pretty or friendly, most of all to those weak-willed or minded. How much horror and fear did Butters push through to carry on his work and do it so well? It was … actually quite impressive. John resolved to show the man a little more patience the next time he spoke with him.

"Thank you, Doctor Butters." John paused before adding, "For all the work you've done here."

He nearly missed the subdued "Uh, sure." as he turned to leave the examination room. Time to review this and begin the ardour of writing a report as accurate as possible that _didn't_ make him sound like a total loon.

\-----

It took four far too short days for another body to drop, two since turning in his full report to looks of doubt and concern. There was little John could do for that though. He'd done his job.

Hendricks loomed as John got out of the car and breathed in the cooling evening air. Not long until the sky finished darkening. The question of whether or not Hendricks thought John should be here after recent events hung between them but he knew better than to voice it. He would say it was best for him to be at home for the next few days and John would vehemently disagree. And then promptly ignore any further worry for his wellbeing. So Hendricks held his tongue and led his friend round to the delivery entrance of the small restaurant behind which the body had been found. 

"What have we got?"

Hendricks grimaced. "Pretty sure it's our guy, Boss. Looks like somethin' out of a horror flick but nobody saw or heard anythin' until a waitress came out and found him. No witnesses, no CCTV out back here. Definitely primary scene though." 

The stoic man had a green edge to his pallor, looked like it was taking some effort to keep a professional face on. That didn't bode well. He and John between them had seen some messy scenes. Caused more than a few back in the day too. If this was enough to get to even Hendricks then it was bad. As John saw for himself as they reached the body. 

The corpse was a wreck; half burned, bleeding where it wasn't, an arm horribly dislocated, almost torn off. The horror flick comparison didn't do it justice. It was the worst one they'd had in this case so far. And part of the case it had to be. Coat? Check. Sword? Check. Horrible and improbable cause of death? Check. 

But something felt off. The other bodies, apart from some minor wounds, had all been killed in one swift event. John had witnessed that himself, seen how efficiently Dresden could down his enemy. This looked like more of a struggle, bits of things they had seen already but without the devastating oomph to end it instantly. 

No, this one was different. But why? Instinct told him it was less carefully planned out. In its way, it reminded John of mob hits. Planned well and done right, a man could be in and out in no more time than it took to fire one bullet. Done wrong and a situation could quickly devolve into a bloody shootout with collateral on all sides. Or a primal scrap with whatever weapon you could get your hands on.

If that rang true here then what was the man up to? Why do something so reckless? He had proven he had means of evasion and escape if threatened so seeing this one to it's conclusion despite the desperate nature made little sense. 

John circled the body, taking in as much as he could while the forensics team buzzed around, meticulous under his scrutiny. He had only a few minutes before he was ushered back and out of their way. Hendricks had disappeared inside to take the unfortunate waitress' statement and John was left alone to think and watch the others work. Which was when a familiar thrum of _something_ washed over him. Then there were hands over his mouth and midsection and John was being pulled back against someone. Before he could panic, a calm voice whispered at his ear. 

“Shh, it’s me. This way.” Dresden. Of all the things. He was led back quietly until they rounded a corner and were out of sight. Though John suspected that ‘out of sight’ had happened the moment he’d been grabbed. That fuzz of energy that had surrounded them in the alley days before, he was sure it was the same as now. John hesitated to call it invisibility but whatever it was, he was guessing it had some limitations. Before, Dresden had kept them both as still as possible and this time, despite moving backward, he’d been kept held in much the same position the whole way. He could only assume that too much movement too suddenly would give the game away. Once they had stopped, Dresden dropped the hand from his mouth down to his shoulder, leaving John free to speak up.

“You really are insane, aren’t you? Or are you just so utterly reckless as to think this a good idea? I could yell for my team and have you surrounded in seconds." 

Dresden didn't miss a beat, answering nonchalantly, entirely unworried by the swathe of officers within shouting distance. "You could. Wouldn't do you much good but you could. You won't though." 

"What makes you so certain of that?"

"You want answers and you know _you_ have a better chance of getting them from me than any of the half wits who'd swoon at the chance to take me down for a little veneration. ' _No, sir, we can't tell you why he did it or how he did it but we got him, sir!_ '" 

The grating sing-song voice the man used at the end almost made John want to punch something. The fact that he was right definitely did. The itch to actually follow through on that urge hadn't made it to surface in years. John clawed it back, shoved the old impulses down. This was no time to be careless, literally standing in the arms of the enemy.

"And I'm to expect you'll actually give me those answers here?"

Dresden scoffed. "Hell no."

There was an easy humour in his voice. Like he was chatting with an old friend in a park on a nice day. Not hiding away at a gory crime scene he was responsible for as darkness edged over the city.

"So why am I here? Afraid you've left evidence on that sloppy hit out there?" The arms around him tensed and the humour was suddenly gone. Was that really what this was about? Putting himself in arms reach of capture to avoid an evidence trail? Counterproductive wouldn't begin to cover it if so. 

"No. That out there was just to get you here." Dresden hesitated, his tone now solemn, serious. "I thought I'd best warn you." 

Ah, a threat then. Back off or end up like the poor bastard round the corner. Or worse. This body proved he had no need to make things quick. He could draw it out, make it hurt. And no one would hear it, see it or be able to do a thing until it was too late. It was a little sickening but John had faced worse oaths to cause him pain. What got to him wasn't the threat itself. It was that he had almost believed Dresden's words back in the alley, the supposed 'Soul Gaze' giving him a false sense of who this man was. But he was just another thug, like many John had known in his life. He wouldn't let it stand.

"If you think a threat like this will stop me doing my job-" 

"No, you idiot!" John was spun suddenly and hard until he found himself in a parody of the position they'd been in before, his shoulders pressed against a wall and an infinitely dangerous man staring down at him. For all of a second he was expecting pain and then _Dresden_ flinched. The wizard stood stock-still, eyes flicking to the side, focusing on something behind him. Listening for a response to his less than quiet outburst. When none came, those brown eyes met John's again and Dresden whispered harshly. "That bloody report of yours got the Council's attention. You've made a target of yourself!"

Council? So it wasn't a threat from Dresden directly. Was he not working alone? Or maybe this Council were _his_ targets. "Who and why? I think I've earned that much from this little kidnapping of yours."

"There really isn't time to explain that one right now. Later, I swear. You're just going to have to trust me for now."

John almost laughed. "You have a trail of at least ten bodies behind you. Why on Earth would I extend any trust to you?"

Something in Dresden's eyes told John he'd misstepped. The briefest flash of hurt crossed them before every bit of openness was shut down tight. It made something in his stomach clench. Still that instinct was screaming from the back of his mind that this man was a fighter but a guardian first and foremost. That, yes, despite the deaths and maybe-threats, he should trust him. That he _wanted_ to trust him.

If the threats weren't and this Council were the real danger, then that desperate battle John had been called to the outcome of, had it been for his sake? He tried to run back through Dresden's words, find anything he may have misinterpreted. The attempt was cut short by a quiet, bitter-edged rebuttal. 

"How about because I didn't throw the first punch in any of those fights? Because my slate is still miles cleaner than yours?" If John had found a knife to twist in Dresden's emotional defences, the man had found one right back and delivered it efficiently. "Now if you're done trying to play magic detective without any of the relevant facts, can you please take a minute to listen to the actual Wizard before he has to go running for his life again?"

What could someone possibly say to that? John shored up his wavering glare, shoved his internal conflict as far back as possible, gave a sharp nod and focused on Dresden's next words. 

"Ok, now the Council will probably try to make contact with you soon, assess how much you know and how dangerous you are to them. If they don't like what they see, there's a very good chance they'll try to eliminate you. Not a fight you will win."

"If you know my history as well as you seem to claim, you should also know I am more than capable of fending for myself." John couldn't find the bite he had wanted those words to hold, couldn't honestly begrudge Dresden for what he had said. He _could_ begrudge that voice in his head trying to yell 'I told you so!' at him for the note of concern that had crept into the words that came after. Dresden just rolled his eyes, a little of his humour fighting back out, and pointed to himself.

" _Wizard_." The man straightened after that, pulling back enough to rummage for something in his coat pocket. What he pulled out was entirely unassuming, a thin loop of wood, barely more than an inch wide, hanging on some string. Dresden held it up for John to see then moved to tie it around the Lieutenant's neck. 

"Look, if they come after you or you think you're in danger for any reason, just snap this circle, alright? Even a small break in it will do." The odd pendant hung almost weightlessly over John's tie once the knot was set, a light scratch of the string on his skin the only real proof it was there. Rather than retreating after their task, Dresden's hands slid up from John's neck into his hair, thumbs resting gently behind his ears. It felt concerningly intimate and John's mind couldn't help but skip back to Karrin Murphy's joke about fraternisation a few days before. Dresden frowned down at him, cogs practically audible as he made some kind of decision. "Maybe don't write a report about this bit, ok?"

It was both a surprise and not when Dresden leaned in again and pressed his mouth to John's. His left hand skirted round John's neck to tuck the circle under his skirt and out of sight. His right, John was pretty sure had just pulled some of his hair out. He didn't dare move until Dresden pulled back again.

"Stay safe." Those were the wizard’s parting words as he stepped away, shimmering out of view. It was one thing to know, from an intellectual standpoint, that they couldn’t be seen. It was another entirely to see that transition with his own eyes. John couldn’t help but stare after him, long after Dresden had disappeared into the growing dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally finished chapter two. It ended up being written in so many disjointed parts but we got there. Even if there was a last minute detour where, with one (just one!) paragraph left to write for this, I ended up writing over a thousand words for a post-Battleground idea that hit me instead last night. 
> 
> My poor, lovely beta reader, EpharaWabbit is a saint. I declared I would finish this last weekend and she has dealt with me faffing and procrastinating all week. I love you muchly, dear! <3 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing ok and is as healthy as they can be.
> 
> On a last note, from my 6yo daughter; WE ARE HAIRCHOG
> 
> That is all. 
> 
> Ari x


	3. Full Scope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! I have fought my body and brain and finally got this chapter finished! So naturally, when I paused in posting this to go feed the gerbils, my husband broke my computer. *thumbs up* 
> 
> Thank God for Google Docs and mobile internet ♡
> 
> Apologies if this is terrible lol The ME has been pretty brutal lately and I'm not convinced this doesn't read as blocky as it was written. But hey ho, here we go :)

The desk sergeant was waiting for him when John arrived at the precinct, two days after the body behind the restaurant. A delivery had been dropped in for him, marked as urgent, for the Dresden case. Just a plain manila envelope with his name on, the ‘urgent’ note and no return address. When he had asked who brought it in, the answer was vague, the word ‘average’ used more than strictly necessary. Leaving it as a lost cause, John took the envelope and headed to his office.

As soon as he had the door closed and settled at his desk, John tore the package open. The contents were not what he was expecting. There were maybe thirty pages inside. Thirty pages and a purple sticky note shaped like a wizard’s hat. That juvenile token of humour was ill-matched to the message scrawled over it.

It read, “ _They aren’t missing. They’re victims. For the sake of others like them, I can’t give up_.”

Something heavy settled in John’s gut. He began scanning through the pages quickly. Each sheet was a handwritten profile, names, addresses, next of kin… dates and times, last known locations. Several had grainy, black and white photos attached and as far as victim demographics went, this was across the board. Teenagers, elderly, men and women, a varied pool of ethnic backgrounds. No obvious patterns. 

_They aren’t missing._

_The real murderers are in your freezers._

Shit. He was on his feet before he’d really thought about it, leaving his office and calling for the attention of the room beyond. 

“I’m going to need everyone who can spare a few hours to work with me on the Dresden case. Finish up what you’re working on and be in the conference room in half an hour.” 

The detective closest to John’s door stood from his desk. He looked worried. “What’s going on, Lieutenant? Not like you to look so rattled.” 

Did he? Regardless. John held up the pile of papers. “I’ve just received this. The information here suggests we may have a large number of additional victims relating to this case. Possibly more than the ones listed here. Jones, get someone from Missing Persons down here as soon as possible. Elliot, I’m going to need copies of these made, enough for everyone pulling in. Half an hour. Hendricks, my office, if you would.” 

John handed the profiles off to a somewhat paler than usual Detective Elliot and turned his back on the suddenly bustling room, returning to his office with Hendricks on his heels. He practically dropped back into his chair, resting his elbow on the desk and his forehead on his fingertips. In his other hand, he picked up that stupid sticky note and stared at it. Hendricks sat down across from him quietly, waiting him out. After a few minutes, John sighed and handed the note over without looking up.

“What is this?”

“It was with the profiles. It’s from Dresden.” Disapproval all but radiated across the desk.

“Johnny, you’ve just freaked out everyone out there. Tell me you ain’t doing this without more to go on than some ambiguous note from a killer. Sure, these guys could be victims. But victims of what? What if this is just some ploy to stretch our resources, divert our attention.” It was a fair question. If they had been dealing with a normal case, John would have been asking the same thing. Maybe disregarded the information entirely until something came up to link it in. But this wasn’t a normal case and he was sure this lead was valid, if not vital.

“It’s more than that. I don’t think Dresden killed these people. I think they are his motive.” There was another stretch of silence while Hendricks digested that. 

“Johnny. What are you not tellin’ me?” Hendricks’ tone told John he wouldn’t get away with not answering and it was coming from one of only a few people who could call him out on his bullshit if he tried. His fingers slid from his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. There would definitely be some kind of lecture in his near future. 

“Dresden was at the last crime scene.”

“The fuck, John? When?” With resignation, John finally raised his head to look at his friend. Hendricks was tensed, fists clenched against the desk and he was more than pissed. 

"While you were seeing to the young lady." Without thinking, John reached for the sticky note again. Somehow this confession was easier with it in his hands. "He pulled me aside to inform me I'd drawn notice from some kind of council. I believe our victims may all be members. Please don't look at me like that, Nathan. You can tear me a new one later."

"Oh, count on it, we will be talkin' about this. For now though, there anything else? What's put you on the warpath with these names?" Hendricks had reeled his anger in as he spoke, concern creeping onto his face in its place as he considered the implications of what John had just told him. 

"Back in that alley, he spoke about his victims being murderers. If that's true then we can assume that every person on this list is deceased. With that, our current bodies become the targets of a vigilante killer, taking revenge for deaths that the police know nothing about." John paused, waited for Hendricks to nod his acceptance of the theory, then continued. "Then we have this note speaking of 'others like them'. When I spoke to Lieutenant Murphy, she said that a 'Dresden' looks out for people within the occult community. If this council were some kind of cult targeting associates or people involved in these circles, things start to make a bit more sense."

"This what you puttin' to the others when you go out there?" 

"Yes."

Hendricks sighed, deep and weary, leaning back in his chair. "Alright, Johnny. Just tell me, why are you getting so deep with this one? Is it because you met the guy? Saw it happen? What is it about this one?"

John wished he didn't have an answer. But there was no avoiding it and he would not lie to the one man he could trust unerringly with his life, certainly not with something so serious. 

"We've been doing this for how many years now? This is this first time I've genuinely had to wonder if we are on the right side of the fight. And the more I learn here, the more I realise how little I know about all this. I need to understand. I can't risk a wrong move here, something's telling me there's too much at stake if I do."

\-----

After their discussion in his office, Hendricks had rallied behind John and between them they had outlined the theory to their gathered colleagues. It was met with a good degree of professional scepticism. Until the officer from missing persons arrived. She brought with her files on every person from their list and some chilling news. 

Not a single one of their 'victims' had been located, alive or deceased, and in most cases, had been written off for one reason or another. Some of the more senior folks had been presumed dead, after all it wasn't unheard of for accidents to occur during a nice, little senile excursion and bodies never to be found. The teenagers had generally been labelled runaways, this or that cited for why they probably left. Others were put down to people disappearing for a new start after bad separations/loss of a job/family bereavement. Over and again, there was a reason the search had been dropped. 

Things were made yet worse when the woman informed them that, for all the work that had supposedly been done, there was far more information squeezed into these new profiles than in any of the police reports. Information that, in some cases, should have led to further investigation.

The mood in the conference room had shifted to something heavy by the time the cases were divied out between the detectives. The first port of call was to follow up with each person's next of kin, confirm there had still been no contact (some of the cases were a few years old, after all), then query whether any of them had had a known interest in the occult in any of its varying forms. Further investigation would then be decided upon.

By lunchtime, a sickening pattern was already emerging. 

More than a dozen follow ups had come through and all but two of them said the same thing; either a pre-existing interest in magic or a sharply escalating new fascination in the months leading up to the disappearances. The other two were not a denial, merely that the people contacted couldn't be sure if the victims were involved in anything like that. 

The idea and associated fear that a cult could be operating in Chicago was quickly gaining traction. As was the worry that they might have some kind of influence over some members of the police force.

Though he didn't dare voice it, John was also considering what part magic itself might have played in keeping officers from investigating. Was it possible to influence people's actions through its use? He already knew it could be used to affect what people saw, maybe even heard, aside from the more physical events he'd witnessed. It wasn't something he could rule out. 

John returned to the confines of his office mid-afternoon, beginning the lengthy task of organising all their new information into a coherent narrative. The space outside still buzzed with activity, animate, anxious discussions and phone calls seeping through the thin walls. A productive forty minutes passed before that continuous hum of noise abruptly ceased. John was rising from his chair with apprehension, ready to enquire the cause of the sudden stillness, when a few weak knocks hit his door. He straightened up and called a terse order to enter.

Detective Elliot was on the other side, looking ashen and possibly close to panic. John was immediately on his guard. Elliot spoke out from the doorway, hand still tight around the door handle. "Lieutenant, sir, there's- there's someone here to see you."

The man was still young and more easily rattled than some of the more experienced members of the department but John had never seen him like this. It was disconcerting, though John refused to let it show on his face. The best he could do to reassure him for the moment was to maintain a calm façade of his own. "Thank you, Elliot. Show them in and return to your work." 

"Sir." The detective gave a respectful nod, the appreciation at the dismissal clear in his eyes. Stepping back, perhaps more than enough steps clear of the door, he motioned someone over, wordlessly directing them into the room. Then he quickly retreated towards the conference room. 

It was a battle to keep the emotions from his face when the visitor entered John's office. A tall man, likely around John's age and built at least as well, walked in. He moved with a stern self-assurance, pulling the door closed behind himself and revealing long, greying hair, pulled back into a neat ponytail, in the half-turn the action took. Hair that trailed down over the collar of a very familiar piece of attire. John had spent enough hours staring at evidence and crime scene photos to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the grey coat this man wore was of the same design and careful manufacture as those that so many of their victims had worn. Including the rain-drenched bodies of 'Elize' and her accompanying John Doe. 

No wonder the silence outside had fallen so quickly. Everyone out there had been looking over those same images just a few hours ago. John breathed deep and mentally prepared himself. This man wouldn't see even a shred of the mess of thoughts fighting for dominance through his mind. Formalities, first and foremost.

"Afternoon, Mister…?"

" _Warden_ Morgan. Of the White Council." Something in John's stomach flipped unpleasantly as that single sentence confirmed part of his theory. It was joined by an errant wave of disgust, rising like bile through his chest.

"Ah, I see. And what can I do for you, _Warden_?" It came out more clipped than he would have liked and John could only hope that the unintended venom on the last word would come across as more mocking than contemptuous. The other man's scowl didn't shift. 

"I have been assigned to find and detain Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden." Morgan paused, watching for any hint of reaction from John. He got none. "My team and I will have him dealt with shortly. We will require any information gathered on him so far that we have yet been unable to obtain."

John narrowed his eyes dangerously, anger joining the internal squall. Even without the knowledge and theories they now had, for someone to march in, no identification presented, no affiliation to any legally registered establishment for law enforcement, and demand highly sensitive information on an active, _violent_ murder case with such gumption? It was outrageous. Not to mention the implication that at least some had already been divulged to them. 

' _Dealt with shortly_ ,' his mind reminded him. _Executed, you mean_. Murdered himself in a back alley somewhere. Twisted, magical gang warfare and nothing more. Perceived justice done. John had made a choice, years ago, not to let that kind of chaos persist. "I don't know who you think you are but this is Chicago and, unless I've missed something vital, you have no jurisdiction here."

The warden's scowl deepened, clearly not pleased with the response. "Dresden is one of ours, that's all the jurisdiction we require. Your forces are incapable of dealing with him."

With a raised eyebrow, John dared him to elaborate. Morgan had already given him more information than he could have expected. If talk of magic were to be added to the mix, it would be a bonus. Instead though, in a brusque tone, Morgan added just a short statement. A threat, in reality. "You will stand down."

That was enough. Every shred of John's determined patience was shot. This man was obviously dangerous and convicted to his standing here. Drawing this out further would get nowhere. 

"Right, I see. In that case," John made a show of picking up a pile of papers, spinning them to face Morgan and fanning them out across his desk to be clearly seen. For a tiny moment the warden's tense shoulders seemed to relax, thinking this an unlikely acquiescence on John's part. Until he processed the series of photos staring up at him from the collection of victim profiles Dresden had sent them. John didn't give him the chance to react. In a smooth, well practiced move, he drew his firearm and levelled it on Morgan, "Warden Morgan of the White Council, I am detaining you on suspicion of kidnapping and murder. If you would kindly remove your sword and any other weapons you may have on your person."

Slowly, Morgan brought his hand up, fingers splaying. Rather than move to disarm himself however, the man spoke a word that sounded almost Germanic and between them appeared something that John's mind could only describe as a tear in reality. For a handful of seconds he stared into a different, darker room. Then the edges pulled in on themselves and it was gone. So was the Warden of the White Council.

\-----

John had sat, vaguely stupefied, for some time after he was sure Warden Morgan had genuinely departed. When he finally left the office to a bombardment of questions, he found he could only muster the most basic of answers. His response of 'gone' to the ones about the other man's whereabouts didn't go down well. Eventually he took Hendricks aside, ran through the whole meeting candidly and then sent him out to deliver the important bits. Sans any details about magic gateways. It probably would have been the final nail before he was forced to take leave and a great deal of psychological assessments. After that, he was mostly left alone to reel himself back in. 

Much like his first encounter with a Wizard, this meeting changed John's reality drastically. Before this, he had only seen Dresden- _Harry_ , use magic. There was something unsettling about witnessing Morgan use it. It made the idea that they were all, every member of this Council, capable of such powerful abilities very, startlingly real. If John was ill-equipped to deal with one Wizard, what could he hope to achieve standing against an organised force? He had his gun, his skill with knives, combat experience. But would it make any difference? If they were indeed going to target him now, John needed to know if he could shoot at them and not have the bullet simply disintegrate.

Then there was this 'portal' business. The first assumption was that the hole led directly to another normal location but John recalled Elize and Doe's brief conversation on the matter. They had made it sound as though it was something else on the other side. What was it they had called it? Nevermore? No, that was Poe. Nevernever. Perhaps some kind of intermediary place. Either way, that mode of travel was another danger John would have to be wary of. And there was still Dresden to consider.

_Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden._

That was one Hell of a moniker for such a common first name as Harry. John had to wonder if it was his given name or something he had concocted himself. Blackstone and Copperfield, he was sure, had both been stage magicians. After the sticky note, John wouldn't put it past the man to take the names for irony's sake. The thought shouldn't have lifted some of John's stress the way it did. With everything unfolding around them as it was, something inside him was drawn to that rebellious humour. John had seen the Wizard's soul, could not forget the mess of emotion that drowned the man. Knowing gave Dresden's determination to joke in the face of his hunters an infectious kind of buoyancy. 

John almost smiled. He caught himself, just barely, pushed it and a certain fondness trying to sneak up on him out of his mind. Now wasn't the time. It took some force of will but John refocused, doubled down and got back to work.

\-----

It was late again when John finally clocked out, overwhelmed and exhausted by the day’s events, and bid farewell to the last few detectives left slogging along with him. For all the progress that had been made, not a single good thing had come from today. Just bad news and new dead ends. 

Not even the unexpected addition of their suspect's full name had got them anywhere. As it turned out, the mouthful they had been handed was indeed a registered birth name. Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden had been born to a one Malcolm Dresden and his partner, Margaret. He was orphaned at six, bounced through the care system for four years and then disappeared for six more. After that, he showed up living in Missouri for a few years. Since then? Nothing. Not a trace of him anywhere. It was as infuriating as it was intriguing. Another damn mystery for the bastard to haunt John with.

Tired and wrapped up in his thoughts as he was, it was a good few minutes before John noticed an old instinct prodding at his consciousness. Despite the still fairly busy streets, he felt like he was being watched. As though someone was singling him out. His attention shifted gears in an instant.

Cautiously, John made note of the people ahead and on either side of him and headed toward the nearest crosswalk. The action gave him an easy excuse to turn and briefly observe the way he’d come. He caught nothing on the first glance but on the second, John caught sight of a dark haired woman in a tell-tale grey coat. She was carefully _not_ looking John’s way. 

On impulse, John’s hand went to his chest, to where a little loop of wood still hung. He couldn’t say why he had left it on but it was there. Before he could really think about it, he had grabbed one edge through his shirt, twisted it against his skin and snapped it. The splintered edge scratched at him but John ignored it, crossing the road calmly when the signal changed. He spared a look left before turning right and continuing down the sidewalk. It was enough to show another Council member tailing him on this side. 

John increased his pace in increments, remaining vigilant while attempting not to alert his stalkers that they had been made. He deviated from his route home, zigzagging from crosswalk to crosswalk while leading the chase away from the more heavily pedestrianised roads. If something violent went down, the less bystanders, the better.

By the time he was comfortable slowing a little, John had spotted a third tail. He was itching to reach for his gun and the urge to just turn and confront these bastards was getting hard to fight. Then he saw Dresden. 

Maybe it wasn’t the most elegant redirect but John took the corner quickly. The relief conflicted with the adrenaline, the sense of urgency and impending threat. He was ready to cut off whatever nonsense the other man was about to spout as he reached him. The fierce focus on Dresden’s face stopped him. 

“How many?” Straight to the point, not a trace of humour. This was the fighter from the alley who had stood perfectly, eerily still as his enemy passed and waited for the perfect moment to deal a death blow. The man that had held John to the same standard and silence with little more than fingers on his lips and sheer intensity. His breath caught a little. 

“At least three.” Dresden had begun digging in a pocket but paused to look at him in surprise. 

“Hell’s Bells, what did you say to them?” Hell’s what now? If John thought Dresden had actually expected an answer, he would have questioned his phrasing instead. As it was, he had returned to his rummaging and retrieved a small plastic squeezy bottle. Whatever was in it looked syrupy with the way it moved. Except it was black and shimmered like an oil slick as Dresden passed it to him. “Here, drink this. Down in one if you can, it tastes like crap.”

Hendricks would have conniptions if he knew about this but John didn’t hesitate. This goo couldn’t be more harmful to him than the folks about to turn that corner. He popped the lid and downed the whole thing. 

Dresden wasn’t lying. Whatever it was, it tasted like rot. To say nothing of the way it sludged down his throat. John had to fight not to gag. It took effect in seconds though. The world fuzzed around him, sounds growing distant, tongue thick in his mouth. He might have wobbled. Dresden’s hands were steadying him but the man himself was just a brown blur.

Words and thoughts flit around, just out of reach. John was vaguely aware, however, of being lifted and then of a bright light appearing beside them. Then the cold. Horrible, blistering cold all around him. An utter contrast to the sharp awareness and smokey heat of the Soul Gaze. As that had done though, it passed, eventually calming into darkness and warmth and quiet as John finally slipped into unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it :) Hope you all enjoyed! Next chapter will finally have some good chunks of Harry and friends! 
> 
> On a side note, a lot of this chapter and the last were written with one song as background noise. It really helps me focus when my brain is trying to overprocess. But it's helpfulness is not why I bring it up. I latched onto it originally because when I first heard it, it made me think of Battleground and Marcone.
> 
> The song is here: https://youtu.be/F6GMVUrVLNc 
> 
> If your brain works anything like mine, you'll be able to draw several parallels. Marcone and Harry in the battle, the banner call and it's effects, Namshiel and more. I love it :3
> 
> Until next time guys ♡
> 
> Ari x


	4. Wizard's Lair

When John awoke, it was on an old yet comfy sofa in a small apartment he didn't recognise. There was a heavy blanket tucked over him and his gun had been laid out beside him, unloaded, with the ammo lined up against it. A quiet panic invaded him, dragging his mind through the lingering fog to full alertness in under a minute. Quick and silent as possible, John shed the blanket, ensuring he could move unhindered if he needed to. Then he reloaded his gun and listened. 

The last thing he could remember was being followed, finding Dresden (or Dresden had found him) and then drinking something that had obviously knocked him out. So much for trusting the wizard with his safety. He might be alive but John was feeling very much abducted at the moment. 

There was shuffling a few feet away and in the room's dim light John saw a trap door, laying open, among the various carpets across the floor. Muttering drifted up, followed by a muted conversation. Two people. John could deal with two people, he'd been in worse situations. If he could catch them off guard-

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty." 

Or not. The words were called up conversationally, clearly aimed at him. And most definitely Dresden. At least that meant he hadn't just been drugged and handed off to whoever wanted his arse the most, he supposed. 

John approached the hatch with caution anyway, gun at the ready. The hole opened up into some kind of basement, a fold-up wooden step ladder that was trying its hardest to be stairs leading down. Descending them was an awkward affair one handed and John had to admit, if only to himself, that even if his mind was back in the game, his body wasn't quite there yet. His coordination was shot. Thankfully there seemed to be no hostility forthcoming. 

The stone-walled room John found himself in was much colder than the one he had come from, despite the heater in one corner. It also smelled, not unpleasantly, of herbs and earth and ozone. Work tables, shelves and racks lined all but one wall and a larger table ran down the centre of the room. At the far end of it was Dresden, posture relaxed and paying John no mind while he mixed things into a small pot over a burner. Only Dresden. Had he been on the phone? It hadn't sounded like a call. 

"You left him with his gun, boss? You're an idiot." John's shoulders tensed further, the chirpy, British voice definitely in the room with them. He followed the sound with his eyes, even as he held his gun steady on the other man. It seemed to have come from a thick wooden shelf, several books, a candle, one surprisingly smutty calendar and … and a _human skull_ nestled between it all. With glowing orange eyes. A talking skull watching him with glowing eyes. Because why wouldn't there be? Things hadn't been insane enough already, clearly. 

"Of course I did. I would be pretty freaked out if I woke up some place I didn't know without my weapons on me. And it's not like I didn't unload it first." Dresden's calm response pulled John's attention back to him. He still hadn't looked up from his work. Either he was confident in his ability to defend himself or confident that he didn't need to. Both options drained a little of John's fight from him, especially when Dresden turned to fetch something from a rack behind him, showing his back like it was nothing.

"He's pointing it at your head," the skull pointed out helpfully, amusement dripping from each word. If it bothered the wizard, it didn't show. He turned back and finally made eye contact, an easy, unarming smile on his face. John bristled. There was something disconcerting about being the only one in the room tensed for a fight. If he had been younger, less aware of danger, he might have shrunk back, shamed by the unnecessary display of force in such a calm environment. He wasn't younger. He knew what this man could do.

"What did you give me?" Dresden nodded in acknowledgement of the question, returning to his work with a more serious expression. 

"Potion. Has anyone taken anything from you recently? Hair, blood, saliva, that sort of thing?"

The memory of the faint sting of hair being pulled while Dresden had him backed against a wall, their mouths pressed together, caught John off guard. He couldn't stop his cheeks from heating, though he kept his voice steady, controlled. "Besides you? No."

There was another small nod as something else was added to the pot. It looked suspiciously metallic and very much not edible. Or even meltable in the heat of the burner. "Good. Wasn't worth the risk that they had though. That potion induced a sort of magical half death. They can only track you if you're alive, couldn't have them follow us."

Tracking. So _that's_ why he had taken John's hair. And why he was so meticulous about destroying blood evidence at his crime scenes. It had nothing to do with avoiding CPD and a potential DNA match. Dresden didn't want the Council to get their hands on it. 

Silence reigned in the little room for several minutes before John finally gave in and lowered his weapon. Dresden had remained entirely unperturbed throughout and the skull, which John’s gaze kept jumping back to, spent them watching the Lieutenant in return and looking oddly like he was trying to keep from laughing. Against better judgement, John tried to settle his anxiety, stepping back and sitting on one of the ladder steps. Breathe and observe. He let his gun rest on the wood beside him, fingertips on it just in case. 

“Mister is at the door.” A little too loud and far too abrupt, the skull made his cheerful statement. John flinched, fingers twitching on the gun again, and glared at the thing. There was a … a twinkle to the flickering little flames of its eyes that assured John it had been on purpose and the skull thought it was hilarious. Dresden looked up at him as well, frowning slightly, before putting down the jar he’d been fiddling with and heading round the table. He gave John a reassuring grin as he approached the ladder and rather than ask John to move, he grabbed the supporting beam high in one hand, using his absurdly long legs to just … step right up past him. 

“‘Scuze me,” he muttered jovially as he passed, vanishing into the room beyond. 

Mister? Was that an associate? Or a partner perhaps? It was a God awful pseudonym, either way. But who was John to know what sorts of half witted, unimaginative crooks Dresden may have been forced to deal with. He wrapped his hand back round his weapon and spared the skull another wary glare before following the Wizard upstairs. 

Dresden was already at the front door when John emerged. This place was obviously his sanctuary. His safehouse. His _home_. And he was being hunted. So it was well within reason to stride across the room with his gun raised when John watched the idiot just _haul the door open_. Like it was nothing. He didn’t know what to expect, be it some thug, another Wizard, something equally as potentially dangerous. No matter what he could have imagined though, it would not have prepared him for the fucking beast of a cat that came sauntering in. It smashed its head into Dresden’s shins, glared up damn disdainfully at John and then wandered off into a different room. 

The door closed again without incident. 

John felt like an absolute fool. It may have been a reasonable reaction but the way Dresden raised his eyebrows at him before chuckling made him feel like he was jumping at shadows. Then again, who was to say that shadows couldn’t be dangerous in the world that Harry Dresden lived in? 

“Relax. Mister’s only dangerous to rats and small dogs, you should be ok. I have to head back down to the lab, finish that potion before it spoils. Make yourself comfortable though, feel free to help yourself to coffee or something if you want.” With a quick gesture and a muttered word, steam and violent bubbling struck up from a tin kettle on the stove. “Mugs are in that cupboard. I’ll be back up soon.”

Forget coffee. Once Dresden was out of sight, John took a moment to properly survey the surroundings. For such a small space, there was an awful lot tucked in. Bookcases were everywhere they would fit, full of things from modern Sci-fi stories to old tomes that John was pretty sure should be in a museum somewhere, under climate controlled cases. Layer upon layer of rugs lined the floor to match (and that word was used lightly) the tapestries over every wall. There was far too much fabric and paper for a room with an open fireplace that had no guard and the sheer number of candles scattered about. 

Then there were all the loose papers strewn around in a kind of organised chaos. City maps were pinned to the tapestries, covered in sticky notes and annotations. There were pinboards full of handwritten information. And more profiles, like the ones John had received in that envelope, some sparser, some stapled with several pages. There seemed to be colour coding mixed in. On pale blue paper, John discovered profiles on him and every member of his team. They were disturbingly detailed and accurate, from one of his officers planning a proposal next month right down to things in John's past that only a very small number of people had known about. Most of whom were dead. Grey sheets beside them denoted Wardens. There was a neat pile of the deceased besides a haphazard sprawl of dozens more. Some of those sheets had nothing more than a name on them. It was daunting. 

Maybe that coffee was a good idea. 

\-----

A good half an hour had passed before Dresden rejoined John in the living room. Time that had not been wasted. John sat at the dining table, the epicentre of the information deluge. He'd sifted through as much as he could and he had questions. A lot of them. Dresden got to the asking before John could decide the best place to start, seeing if he was hungry. Given that John hadn't eaten since lunch and he was sure it must be close to midnight by now, if not later, the answer was a resounding yes. That brought another question to mind, with the mysterious death of his watch and the _third_ phone since they had met. It wasn't the most pressing however. 

Dresden uncovered an ancient rotary phone from under a small paper mountain and called for pizza, of all things. His 'usual' along with John's order. Between the pile of empty pizza boxes by the door and the dismal choice of food in the cupboards, John wasn't terribly surprised and had already figured he didn't cook often. When the call was concluded, Dresden began pottering around, gathering his research from the table and surrounding flat surfaces. To keep from getting in the way, John retreated to the sofa he had awoken on and watched the man tidy. Better now than a later that might not happen.

“How long have you been…,” John bit his tongue on the word _stalking_ , “watching my team?”

Dresden glanced over his shoulder, showing no sign of surprise or concern at the question. He’d likely been expecting it, in one form or another. Then as he had done before, went right back to the task at hand. 

“Few weeks. Maybe two months at most? Seemed like the smart thing to do, with all the attention on you.” The wizard spoke casually, no guilt, no regrets. John supposed he’d been vindicated by virtue of his concerns proving true. But it was also unnerving, that one person could compile so much valid, detailed information on them in a timeframe that small. Presumably without ceasing his research on the people he was trying to protect and those out to kill him. While being hunted by two seperate groups. Without a computer or internet access. Actually, forget unnerving. It was downright scary. 

“Alright. Your pile of deceased Wardens, were you responsible for all their deaths?” Dresden snorted, actually snorted out a laugh and John prepared for some ‘like I would tell you’ speech. Instead, Dresden turned to face him fully, leaning against the table and crossing his arms casually.

“Hell no. Christ. There’s at least fifty guys in there from the last couple years and some of them were crazy good. I mean, I’m flattered that you think I’m that impressive but you already know which ones were me.” 

“I don’t recall being impressed, let alone telling you such. Though it is somewhat reassuring. If not you then, what happened to them?” That question must have hit a nerve because for the first time that evening, Dresden looked uncomfortable. 

“Please, you’re totally impressed.” The attempt to maintain his previous easy tone fell flat, grin slipping from his face. “Those guys though, most of them were killed in skirmishes with vampires. I’m not really sure what’s been going on but the vampire Courts have been getting antsy the last couple of years, getting into more and more petty tiffs with members of the White Council. Most of the deaths so far have been in Europe but we’ve had a couple here too.”

“Vampires?” Dresden’s answer opened up so many new questions but that was a rabbit hole John did not want to fall down, not right now. There was already far too much he needed to know, so he went with the easiest response and hoped Dresden wouldn’t feel the need to elaborate further.

“Yes, vampires. Vampires, werewolves, fairies, trolls, angels and demons, gods. Take your pick, they’re all real or based in reality somehow. I could introduce you to a few but trust me when I say you’re better off without.” John could imagine. Probably not accurately but when human wizards were a headache enough on their own, he dread to even contemplate what a slew of fairytale creatures might add to the mix. “Anything else? Want me to tell you about unicorns? Because they are scary bastards.” 

“The White Council. I want you to tell me their purpose, ideals, goals and why they are so determined to kill you, besides the glaringly obvious line of bodies. You claimed not to have started any of the conflicts, so _why?_ ”

“Yeah, that's fair. Guess I did promise to explain it to you.” The discomfort shone through openly now but Dresden only hesitated long enough to sigh. “Historically speaking, the White Council is the governing body for all wizards worldwide. They have seven laws and if one is broken, the punishment is execution. The _only_ exception is self defence or in defence of another in the case of the First Law.”

“That doesn't sound unreasonable.” There were governments the world over who punished with death for a Hell of a lot more than seven things. 

“Sure, if you don't take into account the number of kids that know nothing about the Laws and accidently cause an infraction.” John would have expected that response to be sharp, angry, but it wasn’t. It was sad and the look when Dresden met his eyes said he knew. _Knew_ that John understood. All about kids getting hurt because of things they were entirely innocent and ignorant of. “Education isn't high up on the Council's priority list. That's not set to change either. Wizards, we live a long time. Some of the older ones, they cling to the ways things were done centuries ago and any talk of change, it doesn't go down well.”

“I suppose that preempts my query on the ages you have recorded. And these laws?”

Dresden took a deep breath, lifting his hands to count them off on his fingers. “Don't kill with magic, don't transform others, no mind melds, enthrallment, necromancy, time travel or summoning Outsiders. Obviously it’s a bit more complicated than that but that’s the core of it.”

“I see. I'm going to assume you broke one of these laws?” John watched as Dresden refolded his arms, curling in on himself the tiniest bit as he dropped his gaze to the floor. It screamed guilt.

“Yeah. When I was 16, I killed a member of the Senior Council.”

John narrowed his eyes, letting disapproval colour his voice. “I thought you said I already knew the full list of members you had killed?”

“I said you knew which _Wardens_ I’d killed. He wasn’t a Warden at the time.”

“That’s an awfully thin technicality.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes a technicality is the only thing that keeps you alive.” There was definitely more to that statement than the words John could hear. “But anyway, it was self defense on that occasion too.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s complicated. The shortest version is that he was a well respected man, trusted and liked by a _lot_ of people.” Dresden pushed out the words like they tasted poisonous, eyes darkening, drifting away. “It was all a lie. A front. He was practising black magic, twisted, harmful spells behind closed doors. And he was training me to be a weapon. His own little enforcer. Except when I found out, I wanted to uphold the Laws and he couldn’t have that. He tried to enthrall me and when that failed, he summoned a demon to kill me. _That_ failed too.”

He looked haunted, bitter. His hands clenched tight around his arms and John could see Dresden’s short fingernails digging into the skin. All at once, John could understand the fear in the man’s soul. To go through that kind of trauma at such a young age, it was no wonder it had left such a deep mark. 

“After that, that’s when I… I went back and faced him. It ended with him and that whole damn house in flames.” It was quiet for a moment, John not daring to interrupt while Dresden collected himself. “When the Council swooped in afterwards, everyone just couldn’t believe that their precious little leader could do such a thing. Obviously _I_ was the warlock. _I_ had summoned the demon and then lost control of it. And then I’d apparently murdered him when he tried to stop me. It was disgusting, listening to it all. Even after they stayed the execution, I was still the monster. There are people on the Council who would still take my head in a heartbeat, even if the last few months hadn’t happened.”

An exhausted, resigned sigh escaped as the explanation concluded, Dresden’s eyes fixed firmly on an interesting patch of fraying rug. The fire made sense, the smoke and terror, utterly lost in it as a world burned to pieces all around. John shivered. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the way that memory surfaced, clear and awful. More than that though, he was as humbled as he was horrified to know the source of those emotions. That this man, that _Harry_ would share something so raw and so painful this openly simply because John had asked to know… He was sure the number of people to have heard this story from Harry was a small one, short version or no. He had just been trusted with something extremely personal, and maybe Dresden just wanted to even their board with all the intel on John he’d accumulated but he didn’t _have to_. He had _chosen_ to share it. 

A loud knocking on the front door saved John from having to try and formulate a suitably sensitive response to it all. Dresden was clearly out to test his nerves though, pushing away from the table and once again opening the door with reckless abandon. How on Earth was he still alive? And why, _why_ was he being handed a stack of _eight_ pizza boxes? John picked his battle as Dresden thanked the delivery boy and shut the door.

"Do you not worry about being seen? Surely you've considered the possibility of being followed and attacked the moment that door is open?"

"Nah, it's fine." 

_Fine?_ No, it was senseless and irresponsible and agitated John to no end. "How can you be so blase about it?"

"It's shrouded." The confusion must have shown because Dresden elaborated, back to the offhanded, easy going elucidation from earlier. No doubt this was a more comfortable tangent for both of them, rather than returning to the previous topic. "Magic. I don't want people paying attention. Think of it like a net curtain, I guess. People can see through it but they know they won't see anything interesting, so they don't bother looking hard enough to ever prove themselves wrong."

While he spoke, Dresden began opening boxes and laying them out over the table and then chairs when he ran out of space. "It covers half the path and all the way to my door. More effective than outright illusion, people tend to get freaked out when people appear and disappear in thin air. Misdirection though, if something isn't interesting enough for them to watch then they won't see. Even the pizza guy, he knew where he was going and it's just another boring door to a boring apartment and I'm not worth his time to pay attention to. Ask him to describe me and the best word he'll be able to give you is 'normal'."

"Like what you did at the station? When you delivered the envelope," John guessed.

"Sort of. Same principle but I used a potion for that one. The shroud is a long-term enchantment." Harry handed him one of the last two boxes and sat down beside John on the sofa. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes before John finally cracked. It was just too strange to leave be. He nodded to the food spread across the room. "Should I ask?"

He got a mischievous grin in reply and a cryptic, "You'll see soon enough."

True to word, by the time they were halfway done with their meal, there was another knock at the door. So damn quiet that John almost missed it. There was no missing the high pitched little voice that accompanied it though.

"'Za Lord! It's pizza night! You in there?"

Pizza night. Alright. So there would be company after all. Tension crept back in until Dresden muttered lightheartedly, "Oh Lord. Here we go."

He had barely put his food aside when the impatient voice started up again, somehow more shrill. "You didn't forget about us, did you? Haaarryyy Dresdeeen, open the doooor! We're hungryyy!"

Dresden frowned, quickening his movements, then swung the door open with an aura of disapproval rolling off him. "Damn it, Toot! What have I told you about yelling my name in the middle of the street?"

“PIZZA!” John couldn't see who was responsible for the demand but he could see Harry's face soften in the odd, coloured glow from outside. Light that he was pretty sure had been the standard streetlamp orange before. 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Come on then.” Dresden stepped back from the doorway with fond exasperation rather than any genuine anger. 

“Hoorah!” The exclamation was followed by a chorus of little cheers. And then all Hell broke loose. 

In less than a second, a swarm of multicoloured light motes flooded the room. The sound of the door clicking shut was drowned out by excited little whoops and yells in various pitches. John had a hard time figuring out what was going on until one of the lights landed solidly on the box in his lap. Not a light. A fairy. An actual, goddamn fairy. Tall enough to look him in the eyes, with a vibrant, fluffy shock of purple hair and tiny plastic-and-aluminium armour. He offered a quick, sloppy salute with the word 'Lieutenant!', marking him as the one who had spoken at the door. Then he sped off again to join the others congregating around the open pizza boxes. 

John sat and watched, mildly horrified as the spectacle began and ignoring Dresden as he sat back down. What happened next could only be described as a feeding frenzy. Like sharks on blood, the little creatures dove in and out, tearing and devouring zealously. John was profoundly thankful that pizza could not scream. And also that the terrifying affair was over quickly. He just barely kept himself from asking if they had a taste for human flesh. The fact that he really didn't want to know the answer was the only thing stopping it spilling out. 

The aftermath was astounding. Not a single crumb was left across all six boxes. Around them, full, round bellied little fairies began settling where they could. A few even set up camp for a contented nap in Harry’s hair. A single one didn’t slip into the communal food coma, the only fairy larger than a hand. ‘Toot’, Dresden had called him. He lounged on a box atop a dining chair, switching between a cautious gaze at John and a questioning one to Dresden. 

“It’s fine, Major-General. You can report in front of him.” The fairy did not look convinced. “He’s good people, Toot. He can listen if he wants to.”

“If you say so, My Lord.” Toot pouted, standing to face John full bodily. “But he best remember that if he betrays you, he _will_ have to stand against me on the field of battle!”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that, buddy. But I feel safer knowing you’ve got my back.” It’s little chest puffed out in pride, beaming at the praise and taking the chance to attempt further intimidation. 

“And _you_ ,” he yelled, the effect a bit diminished by his pitch, “What say you? Will you swear fealty to our Lord?” 

John stumbled over his words before settling on the most diplomatic answer he could, “I think fealty is perhaps a step too far? I will swear to you though that I won’t cause him harm unless he threatens civilians. I have an oath to uphold, after all.”

Apparently it was the wrong answer because Toot swept into the air to hover, outraged, above John’s head. “WHAT? But you ate the _pizza!_ Pizza is for the _loyal!_ ”

“Major-General Toot-Toot.” The stern tone caught Toot’s attention immediately. “Calm down. You know humans need to eat. It is a matter of necessity not payment and he is under Guestright. I am required to see to his needs.”

“But-” He broke off into agitated grumbling, returning to sulk on his chair.

“Sorry about that, he gets kinda enthusiastic.” Harry wore a sheepish expression, like a parent who’s teenager had just had an outburst of vicious rebellion in public.

“I noticed.”

“Anyway, this may take a while but you’re welcome to sit in. It should mostly be updates on some of the local practitioners tonight, if nothing serious has come up.” And that was that, suddenly John was caught up in the process of one fairy after another reporting information to Dresden on routines and changes, current affairs, meetings, gossip, brief talk of vampires and other creatures, all manner of inanity. Each piece carefully acknowledged and recorded by a friendly, smiling serial killer, between jokes and checks on the fairies’ wellbeing. There was no protocol for this kind of madness. _Even in S.I._ , John mused. So he allowed himself to be carried along by it, working with Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, Wizard, until each winged informant had departed and John had fallen asleep under a thick blanket on an old yet comfy sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on our longest chapter yet! Christ, this was a beast to get through. But I hope you've enjoyed it. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my EpharaWabbit, the beautiful lady who makes sure I don't present you with error-ridden trite :3 
> 
> I sleep now. 
> 
> Much loves, 
> 
> Ari x


End file.
